


wrinkles of a life spent among the stars

by trillnaturalist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s04e22 These Are the Voyages, F/F, Gen, [digs in the ground for some good good vulcan emotional tramua], in this house we respect travis and hoshi, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillnaturalist/pseuds/trillnaturalist
Summary: tatv re-write.T'pol is called back to Earth to give a keynote speech at the launch of Pike's Enterprise's first five-year mission in 2257.  It's been thirty years since she retired her commission with Starfleet, forty years since the loss of Hoshi, and almost ninety since the end of Archer's original ten-year voyage, and even longer since she lost Elizabeth.  In an attempt to finally process her emotions, T'pol watches a hologram of the nx-01's last mission.
Relationships: Hoshi Sato/T'Pol, T'Pol & Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 16
Kudos: 17





	1. follow your instincts

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this bad boy for a while and finally threw it into the void !! Baby's fist fic since middle school lol so I hope it's good :)c

2257

The long, embroidered sleeve of T’pol’s burgundy robe folded into the dirt as she bent down. Carefully pushing a hori hori into the sandy Vulcan soil, she slowly pulled out a small flowering Trill plant, roots forming a scraggly dance in her hands. In her later years, T’pol had taken to gardening. It calmed her, the monotony of watering plants, pulling weeds, harvesting peppers -- a spicier addition to her staple diet since her time aboard Enterprise and the Chronos -- letting her take time to think and process her emotions. Plus, adding to the sandy soil to be amenable to grow much of anything had been a challenge for the mind T’pol sorely needed after retiring her commission. 

Gently cupping the plant she had freed in one hand, T’pol vaguely covered over the new hole she had created before grabbing the hori hori and heading inside her sleek, gray house a few meters away. 

The moment T’pol entered the threshold, though, she could hear the incessant beeping of her computer at the entrance of the other room. She had gotten a message and likely a lot of them by the sound of the alert noises. Sighing, the old woman placed her gardening tool on the round wooden table in the center of the room -- a table with two chairs, one noticeably empty for a while, collecting a thin layer of dust. 

Plant still in her hand, T’pol rushed over to the other room. While she had been outside, she had gotten a missed call and about three missed comm messages from Admiral Carmin. Frowning, T’pol cleared the notifications so her computer would be quiet for a minute and returned to the main room. 

She’d answer him in a minute, but now she had to deal with the plant in her hand, roots loose and dirt getting all over her pristine floor. A small terracotta pot was already waiting for her with some Terran clay soil filling it halfway. She dug a well in it with her hand and let the Trill plant fall in, covering the corners with the leftover Terran soil. 

On her last mission with the Chronos, T’pol’s pilot had given her a couple seeds of a plant native to the Trill’s backyard as a parting thank-you gift. T’pol had been strangely touched by the action and even though she never saw her old pilot in-person again, she swore to preserve the plant as long as she could. The seeds of the seeds propagated from the ones first given to T’pol almost forty years ago live on in her hands now. 

T’pol didn’t consider herself a sentimental person, but after Hoshi died, she had gained a lot more regard for the human idea. In many ways, she carried on the concern and regard for the life of her bandmate when she died. This plant seemed to represent the time she spent on the Chronos and the gifts, physical and otherwise from everyone under her captaincy. The Trill plant needed to be first started in the ground before being in a dark, moist area for a few months in clay soil to simulate the conditions native to the Trill caves it is native to. Plant transplanted to her liking, T’pol filled a cup and drizzled water over the soil to pack it down, and placed it in a cabinet under her sink. 

Disregarding the new trail of dirt on the floor, her home was mostly the image of Vulcan design. Everything was clean and tidy, but there was an eclectic sense to some of the decor, representing old trips or faraway friends from planets flung far. There was also a distinct air of something missing in the house as if the home itself had been holding its breath since Hoshi died. 

\---

Walking with the deliberate steps of someone turning one hundred and seventy in less than a year, T’pol sat down at her desk before opening the Admiral’s message. She called him back on VC, preferring talking face-to-face when possible. T’pol had learned that however illogical, humans communicated a lot through non-verbal cues and liked to see the other person’s face to pick up on little things. 

After a couple of seconds, they picked up, the garish yellow of their command uniform popping onto T’pol’s screen with a ping. Her old computer -- at least a decade out of date, with software sorely in need of an update -- displayed both of them on a split screen. T’pol’s clean bowl cut had grown into somewhat of a shaggy mullet in her old age (resembling T’pau’s old cut too close to be unintentional). Her skin was etched with wrinkles of a life spent among the stars. Admiral Carmin, on the other hand, wore his new Starfleet uniform with dignity, it’s bright gold complimenting their sandy skin. 

“Admiral Carmin. Please excuse my tardiness. Why have you called me?” 

“Captain! It’s good to see you. What has it been? Forty...two years since you retired your commission? I was barely a cadet. Anyway, I should be the one apologizing for my tardiness actually,” they chuckled, and T’pol refrained from commenting on how long it had taken them to get to a point: by the smile on their face, they meant well. “Starfleet is planning on launching The Enterprise again. The new one… that was obvious. Anyway, Captain Pike is taking her on a five-year mission of exploration and we would like you to give a speech at the launch because you’re the only member of Archer’s first team still alive and this ship is such a legacy as the first exploration vessel…. not that you and Commander Sato didn’t done great work on the Chronos resolving the effects of Terra Prime too… oh and uh speaking of Terra Prime, the first Vulcan-Human hybrid officer is serving on the five-year mission and considering your… history we-”

T’pol gave them a bemused raised eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry sir. I was rambling there. I-It’s my first call like this and Starfleet Command is a little stretched right now. Please excuse my lapse of… logic there.”

She gave them a half smile and a nod to go on. Carmin had clearly been rifling through a couple of Padds while they spoke to her, hands moving fast as they explained the situation. The admiral seemed so put together at the beginning of the call, but she had observed humans tended to project an aura of responsibility when it often wasn’t earned. Not that she was going to hold it against him. In her time… babysitting the officers of Enterprise she had certainly seen nerves rattle people worse. If she could end up bonded to Hoshi, not making sense in a few languages when she first came aboard the ship, she could get through a strange briefing. 

“Thank you, sir,” Carmin pulled down his shirt on the other end of the call, clearly pulling up a new page on his Padd, “Anyway, we would like to formally request you to give the keynote speech at the launch of Starfleet’s first five-year mission of exploration and scientific discovery.”

T’pol paused. The answer was on her lips but-

It had been too long since she’d been in Starfleet, and frankly too long since she’d left Vulcan too. Would she be able to relate to this new crew? She wouldn’t be on the five-year mission but still-? 

The time since she first joined Starfleet was marked with so much loss. First was Malcolm, “the self-sacrificing idiot” as Trip so fondly called him. Then Jon and Trip not long after each other, both dying in the line of fire barely over fifty-five. It took her a while to fully accept their deaths, but Hoshi kept assuring her it’s how they would have wanted to go. Trip had never really been the same after Malcolm died anyway. 

After Elizabeth’s death and their subsequent breakup, T’pol’s relationship with Trip had been shaky, but it hurt in an oddly poignant way to see him go. Their romance had never been genuine or truly good for either of them, and Terra Prime was only the last straw. 

Humans were so susceptible to illness and space travel was so riddled with danger. Denobulans lived longer than humans, but that didn’t stop the shrapnel from the war hospital Phlox was volunteering at. Travis and Hoshi were the youngest of the original crew, but all good things must come to an end. Travis was old and wrinkled by the time he died, but Hoshi? Hoshi was still T’pol’s first officer on the Chronos when she fell from a phaser blast on an away mission never to truly regain consciousness. 

Hoshi had been so full of life, of love. 

During the first few years, T’pol had intentionally stayed closed off from the humans. She saw herself as a babysitter, the assignment as almost a punishment. Once she joined Starfleet, though, she began to see herself as a member of the crew. Not at the attending-senior-staff-basketball-games level of a crew member, but she allowed herself to go to movie nights, try new foods, and even go on a date or two. Now she was in an odd limbo: not that she’d ever admit it, but she harbored a lot of emotions towards her old crew, and at the same time T’pol still followed a code of logic. She wasn’t as touchy as her friends, not as expressive, but her emotions maybe ran further. 

Oh Surak, if T’Les could see her now. 

There was a certain curse that came when T’pol got attached -- completely logically, of course -- to the crew of Enterprise: she got to see the joy of her friends, the smiles and late night sleepovers in Engineering. But also, she got to see the loss, feel the loss of them and live to deal with it. T’pol was beginning to realize why most Vulcans refrained from friendship with humans. 

The more time passed since her friends’ death, the shorter she had to meditate at night, but controlling her emotions would never be as simple as before she joined the crew of Enterprise. 

T’pol’s entire crew was gone, most of her human connections dead or old. She had been at the unveiling of Captain April’s Enterprise and it had felt so foreign. And this time there was going to be a successful Vulcan-Human child on the ship? T’pol had heard of him. T’pau’s grandson… Spock? After Elizabeth died, she wasn’t sure if she should go meet the boy, not sure if she wanted to sort through her emotions surrounding Elizabeth’s death. 

T’pol was filled with reservations about accepting the admiral’s offer but humans believe that sometimes you have to follow your instincts. A very illogical approach, but one she had come to embrace. 

She wasn’t sure logically she wanted to go back to Earth, to be among humans again, but something inside her was tugging her to San Francisco, to the dusted navy blue uniform in her closet.

“I would be honored to give a speech to the launch of this five-year mission,” T’pol said simply.

“Oh good! I was worried there for a second,” Admiral Carmin chuckled, T’pol quietly thinking that she was worried too. “I can send a transport in two days, there’s already a ship headed to Vulcan on the way to San Francisco. Thank you again, Captain.”

With a small wave, Carmin closed their comm line. It was quiet again, save for T’pol’s thoughts. She sat there for a second before getting up again. There were a few more Trill plants to repot. She would think about the speech tomorrow.


	2. a swirl of movement

2257

T’pol always rose early, but she felt thoroughly exhausted when she finally set down her Padd. The sun had crested the ridge of a distant sand dune half an hour ago, and T’pol had spent approximately three point seven hours trying to draft a speech for the launch of The Enterprise. 

Having gone through about five drafts saying nothing in particular, T’pol was beginning to wonder if maybe she was too disconnected from Starfleet for this. Or maybe -- maybe she wasn’t connected enough? Since she retired from Starfleet, T’pol had spent most of her time on Vulcan. She had tried to maintain her connections to human culture but had shifted back to the comfort of Vulcan philosophy in a lot of ways. 

T’pol sighed, standing and tucking her Padd into a wide pocket of her Mos’opelal. She closed her thick volume of Surak’s teachings and decisively pushed it to the other side of her desk. It was the same printing as the one she had given Jon during the crew’s visit to Risa and hadn’t updated hers after she met T’pau with an odd human sense of nostalgia. 

If she was to write something for a human audience, she should take a human approach. 

She walked to the other side of the room, kneeling down to the small corner at the bottom of her bookshelf with a few holoprogram cards in a neat stack. The short woman shuffled through them before tucking a card into her pocket and standing up. 

The walk to the village center was uneventful. T’pol had chosen to live a little ways outside of the town proper; she hadn’t been too connected to the choices of the High Command or even the culture of her family since she came back to live on Vulcan and couldn’t handle a constant reminder of all she left behind after leaving the High Command. 

Vulcans said that they didn’t find holosuites to be logical for entertainment, only for historical research or theoretical design. The truth was that Vulcans were a little more dramatic and loved historical holoprograms for the sheer nerdiness of meeting the Surak or Earheart. Therefore, the holosuite complex was tucked away on an odd corner of the town, but was busier than anyone would admit to aliens. T’pol quickly rented a room, exchanging few words with the younger man behind the counter. She inserted her program card into the control panel outside the room she had rented, hands moving deftly to finish the setting controls. 

Her fingers lingered over the language settings for a minute before selecting Standard. T’pol had been fluent in Standard and Vulkhansu for decades, not to mention the bits of other languages she’d picked up from Hoshi, but today it felt right to hear her friends as they heard themselves. It felt more real. 

T’pol paused for a second before she entered the holosuite, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The moment the clunky doors slid shut, everything began coming to life all at once. The scene was so bright, so alive. 

2151

She had brought the program for the last mission of the NX-01, the last time the entire original crew had been together, the mission where Jon was writing his speech to what would soon become the Federation. Something to remind her of who she was writing her speech for. 

And…. wow. 

The first thing T’pol noticed was Jon standing up from his chair, taking a decisive step forward. Hoshi swiveled in her chair, adjusting her earpiece as she spoke. Surak, she was young. They all were. Malcolm’s sharp features stared right through T’pol with a look of concern. He was the only one who really looked like how he did in her memory, a vision of the young man immortalized in her mind as he threw himself into an explosion so long ago. Across from Malcolm at the other side of the bridge was a younger T’pol half-standing up, her skin soft and so carefree. At the conn, a young ensign’s command gold hijab complimented the stripes on her uniform as she turned towards Travis, whispering something the program didn’t quite pick up. She was almost glad Trip wasn’t on the bridge; after Elizabeth died there had been a weird air between the two of them. Even after they broke up it just wasn’t quite the same. T’pol wasn’t sure how she’d react to seeing him again after all these years. 

The figures blended together, a swirl of movement. The smell was the next thing that stood out to her. T’pol might have exaggerated her distaste for human smell a bit when she first boarded the ship to annoy her crewmates, but it truly stood out now having stayed away from humans for so long. It wasn’t the offending smell of Commander Tucker, or the sweet notes she had learned to accept from her bondmate, but rather a cophocony of the entire bridge crew and something distinctly… Denobulan? lingering in the air. 

It would almost be a beautiful statement about how well the crew worked together if her nose wasn’t so hurt. 

T’pol really hadn’t processed the loss of everything, of everyone on the ship until now. Logicially, she knew how it had affected her, she knew the extra hours in meditation, knew the new emotions almost bubbling to the surface, knew the topics she avoided. But now, seeing everything, seeing all the loss that she had truly lived through? It was all so much. There was a reason she failed Kohlinar; it all came flooding back to her, all her emotions about everyone and everything at once. 

T’pol’s mind was fogging, closing off, but somewhere in the back of her mind a thick voice cut through: “That's impossible. Shran's been dead for what, three years?” 

Was that Jon?

The scene was bright, reminding her of a past she couldn’t reach, it was smelly, reminding her of the naivety she possessed when she first joined the crew, and it was loud. The voices of the crew were so… them. Their voices were brash and soft, flowing in the sharp Standard she had gotten used to hearing. It was as if she had transported back to the last day on the ship. In a way, she had. 

The NX-01 had been by definition an experimental vessel, and it truly was an experiment for T’pol. She had been sent on the ship to babysit the human crew, and at first she took this as her whole mission, but things got complicated around the second year. She got emotionally attached to the crew, as much as she would never admit it, and soon after resigning her commission with the High Command, T’pol began to see herself as an integrated part of the crew. 

The voyage with Enterprise had been an experiment for T’pol with her emotions and her relationships, but she wasn’t sure what the conclusion of this experiment had been, and now she was confronted with the raw data of this experiment again. 

T’pol sat down, as if in slow motion. Her mind was halting, overloaded with stimuli. 

Some say that Vulcans don’t feel emotions as much as other species, but in reality, they might experience them differently, process them differently, show them differently but Vulcans feel emotions maybe even stronger than humans do. 

And something in the images and sounds of the holoprogram triggered some unprocessed emotions within T’pol. Slowly and deliberately, the older woman pulled her knees up to her chest, dark blue fabric folding in on itself. 

“Computer, freeze program,” her voice faltered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to post the first two at once,,, this one's kinda a douzy


	3. searching for a former clarity

2257

It took T’pol a few minutes to gather herself. Seeing everyone for the first time in decades had given her some sort of shock, her mental shields torn down with a wave of sensory information. She sat on the holosuite floor for almost thirty earth minutes, breathing deeply and slowly integrating the holoprogram around her. 

T’pol had shut herself off from this time period, creating layers of mental blocks. Closing her eyes in a final resignation to the world around her, T’pol decided that she needed to write this speech, not for Starfleet or the admiral, but for herself. Following Vulcan teachings didn’t mean shoving emotions down inside oneself, but accepting and processing them to live more logically. It had taken her decades to truly realize this, and more to start practicing it. 

The older woman stood slowly, letting her setting integrate itself into her mental map. The swish of her wide sleeves mimicked a warm welcoming morning breeze as she touched her hand to her Padd and stylus in her pocket. The items grounded her at home, as well as being a reminder of her goal here. 

“Resume program,” T’pol’s voice was steady now, projecting an air of confidence she needed. 

2151

The scene restarted with a loud fervor, sounds and colors reigniting a familiar sense of incongruence in T’pol’s mind. Her mental shields were up this time, though, prepared for these surroundings. The holosuite really felt like she was back on the bridge, a passive observer floating through something she had lived. 

The viewscreen came on in sharp resolution, Shran’s face in an uncomfortable close up. T’pol walked to the back of the bridge, standing close to the turbolift doors. Her eyes darted across the room, but maintained a stern look, trying to be cognizant of how she reacted underneath the projected veneer of observance. 

Shran looked frantic, responding to Jon’s past remark about his death, I'm sorry, pinkskin, but it was essential certain people believed I had met my demise.”

T’pol’s brows furrowed at that. She had always found it odd that Andorians referred to humans as ‘pinkskins;’ Shran had seen humans whose skin was far from pink, and the generalization was illogical in a way that served no purpose. Travis was right in front of Shran now, and the rest of Enterprise’s crew was far from a pale monolith. 

“I know it's been a while, but as I recall, you still owe me a favor,” the Andorian’s eyes still were frantic, always a species to betray their emotions on their face. Lost in her thoughts, T'pol must’ve missed Jon’s response earlier. 

“I remember. But this isn't a good time, Shran. I assume you know where we're heading,” the captain also looked annoyed. 

“I may no longer be a member of the Imperial Guard, but I'm aware of the proposed coalition.”

“It's more than a proposal. We're on our way to Earth to sign the charter,” Jon glanced at Hoshi for a second, as if to ask her for Shran to hurry up. 

“The ceremony isn't for three days. If my plan works, you'll be home in plenty of time.”

“I'm afraid a detour is out of the question right now,” Jon took a small step back towards his chair, stubbornly set on the federation charter in his mind. As usual, he was following one goal without looking at the logic surrounding any outside options. 

“My child's been abducted!” Shran’s antennae moved together, a sense of frustration evident as he glanced away from the screen for a split second. He lowered his voice, speaking more calmly, “Kidnapped. You owe me.”

“You never told me you had a child,” Jon was about to sit down again, but he moved forward again, interest piqued. 

“Jhamel gave birth five years ago. A daughter. They've taken her -- former associates. It's a long story. You need to let me come aboard,” Shran’s voice was louder again, more urgent. 

Jon nodded towards Travis, telling him to set a rendezvous course to the Andorian vessel. Cutting the transmission, T’pol saw Jon smile slightly as he sat down again. It was almost as if he was glad to make the detour. He always had been rushing headfirst into danger for those he cared about. T’pol had begun to learn the virtue in that by her time on the Chronos.

\---

T’pol pulled out her Padd, looking at her notes from earlier, scribbles of her launch for the five-year mission. Her notes were a mess. If she wanted to write the speech incorporating her experience with humans, she should probably take a look at her thoughts a hundred years ago. 

“Computer, freeze program. Advance ahead one hour.” 

It took a second for the holodeck to change, but the scene quickly shifted into a bridge that looked slightly different. The captain and the younger T’pol were missing. The hijabi officer sitting next to Travis had the conn, with Mal and Hoshi engrossed in a conversation comparing Padds by Mal’s station. 

T’pol turned, heading towards Archer’s quarters. The silver embroidery shone on the dark blue of her outer robe from the blinking lights of the small turbolift. Jon’s quarters were close to the bridge, and she entered to find the holoversion of Jon and herself standing across from each other.

“He's an admitted criminal. You said so yourself,” the younger T’pol said, Padd in hand. Her posture was confident and hostile. 

“He said he fell in with some disreputable people. That doesn't make him a criminal.”

“If we're late for the ceremony, it will have far-reaching consequences.”

Oh, if T’pol could be that confident now. She had been so dead set on her missions back then, but now T’pol couldn’t even manage to write a speech? What had happened? 

Something in the back of T’pol’s mind reminded her the almost hundred years between the holoprogram and today had taken its toll and she couldn’t forget that, she had to process it fully. Hopefully this would help with that, help her understand how to reconcile the change in mental space between now and the T’pol she saw in front of her delivering a message about the greater good. 

She had come to the holoprogram to search for an understanding of how to write a speech for a vessel’s launch that felt foreign to T’pol, but now she was searching for a former clarity. 

“If Shran hadn't helped us, I never would've gotten aboard the Xindi weapon. Have you forgotten that?” Jon took a step towards the younger T’pol, his voice rising, “This alliance is based on friendship and loyalty, exactly what Shran is looking for right now.”

“I don't trust him,” the holographic T’pol stated curtly. 

“You don't trust Andorians. You never have. Thank God the Vulcan Council is a little more enlightened than you are,” Jon paused, shaking his head. “If they're willing to forge an alliance with Andoria, the least you can do is give Shran the benefit of the doubt. When we met ten years ago, I didn't trust you. For that matter, I didn't trust any Vulcans. You helped me get past that, remember? I listened to you, now it's your turn to listen to me. I can't turn my back on him, T'Pol. Try to understand.”

“I'll try.”

An older T’pol sighed. The expression on her holographic face was stern, and she could tell her younger self still wasn’t entirely certain how well this would go. T’pol remembered making a conscious effort to set aside her prejudices taught at the VSA during her later eight years on Enterprise, but it wasn’t until she had her own command with Starfleet that she had to confront these ideas in practice. 

Looking back, T’pol really reciprocated a lot of Jon’s sentiments about each other’s race at the beginning of their relationship -- maybe her perspective ran deeper than his. 

Quietly, T’pol pulled her Padd from a hidden pocket and scribbled something on her notes page for the speech. 

It had been very illogical, expecting the humans on the ship to the High Council’s role in their programs while not trusting them. T’pol wasn’t sure what exactly forced her to change her mind. Maybe it was just an engineer’s southern charm and a comms officer’s soft hands wearing down her defenses. 

\---

“We're going through the troposphere. Might get a little bumpy,” it was Travis, looking back at the away crew from the pilot’s seat. 

They were on their way planetside; Shran, some of the senior staff, and a few MACOs were armed with a reconstructed amethyst for bargaining and a hope for Talla. 

The holo-T’pol was wearing a Starfleet jacket over her catsuit, a sharp contrast to the layers of blue robes her older counterpart was wearing. The older T’pol almost rolled her eyes at the outfit she was wearing in the holoprogram: she had always felt constrained in these uniforms. 

When she joined Starfleet, she didn’t quite feel ready to don the navy jumpsuit. It seemed too human. She wanted to retain some sense of separation from the rest of the crew, some aloofness apart from her human crewmates. It was only when she took command of the Chronos that Hoshi had convinced her to look the part of a Starfleet officer, projecting her role outward even if she wasn’t quite confident in her integration into Starfleet. 

It allowed her to be more comfortable, in Starfleet and in her own skin. 

T’pol was lost in her own thoughts and barely noticed Hoshi turning to the holographic version of herself, “Do you ever miss Trip?”

“You mean-” It was quiet on the shuttle, but the two were able to have a degree of privacy as they turned towards each other in the corner.

“Yes.”

“You know how long it's been?” T’pol raised an eyebrow. To an outsider, she might seem emotionless, but T’pol, face wrinkling as she smiled at the scene, was no outsider. 

“That's not what I asked you,” Hoshi said softly. There was something genuine and almost pleading in the lieutenant's big brown eyes.

“I haven't thought about those days in a long time.”

“Benefit of being a Vulcan I guess,” Hoshi’s voice caught. Looking at her lap, the younger woman continued, “I realized we may never see each other again. We might get different assignments. There's no way of knowing.”

T’pol didn’t answer her. Nearly a century later, the older Vulcan wasn’t sure what she should’ve said, but it clearly wasn’t stunned silence. 

Hoshi looked away quickly, an emotion painted on her face T’pol had gotten too acquainted with recently. 

Should she have told the other woman she knew their assignments -- that they would be posted together on the Chronos, that she had just put in paperwork to request Hoshi as her first officer? Should she have told her that she had barely thought of Trip in that way since Terra Prime -- barely before then even? Should she have told Hoshi that she thought of the woman as the most valuable member of the crew -- that Jon should have promoted her to Lt. Commander long ago? Should she tell her that she knew what the woman was aiming at and… yes? 

No, there was no use in rethinking the past. T’pol sighed, holding her hands steady behind her. It was illogical to get entangled in the emotions of her mistakes. She was here to close the gap between her experience in Starfleet in her mind, to formulate a plan for her speech, to remember the value of exploration from a human perspective. Yet, just as she had promised herself not to get attached to humans at the beginning of Enterprise’s mission, she was here again illogically contradicting her own goals. 

A strong voice came over the comms: “Archer to Shuttlepod Two.”

“Go ahead, sir,” Travis deftly switched something on his control board. 

“Shran's made contact. Everything's set. I'll lead you in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the title of this is chapter also an against me! song, no it wasn't intentional, but yes you should listen to it


	4. impressions of a conversation

2151

T’pol stood on the upper railing of the shuttlebay, watching her younger self walk away from Archer and Shran’s conversation. 

They had rescued Shran’s daughter -- Talla -- without much incident. T’pol only remembered the exchange of the gemstone for the Andorian girl, but the program included a short phaser fight between the aliens and Enterprise crew. T’pol had always wondered what exactly caused the aliens to return to the ship. 

As the voices of Jon and Shran faded, T’pol headed down the corridor, “Computer, remove crew.”

She needed a second. She closed her, touching a hand, skin sagging slightly, to the sleek metal of the walls. It was so familiar, yet so foreign. She had never understood what Trip meant when he said the ship was alive -- it was a hunk of metal, assigning life was simply illogical -- but something about the connection of T’pol’s soft hand with the tall sheeting connected her to the past. 

T’pol opened her eyes, the bright lights of the corridor shining in her eyes. She let the moment soak in as she walked through the corridor. It was sterile and organic, comforting like her home on Vulcan, but missing some factor from Enterprise, something distinctly human. 

There was something lonely about a ship without its crew. 

“Computer, add appropriate crew complement, objective mode.”

If she was of a softer species, T’pol would’ve grinned. Instead, a small twinkle could be seen in the Vulcan’s eyes. 

The crew was always what made the ship a hostile place for her at the beginning of her time on Enterprise, and what made the ship a comfort near the end. At first, she was afraid of their constant noise, constant smell. It wasn’t that she really got over her fear, but more the constant stimulation by the crew was something T’pol integrated better into her life: she would take meditation breaks from heated meetings with senior staff, but use the chatter of the cafeteria as background noise to work on projects. It was comforting sometimes, knowing that there was an entire crew surrounding her. They might not understand how T’Pol communicated, but those that mattered took the time to speak softer or not comment on her fidgeting hands in a meeting. 

She knew logically how much she missed the crew, missed the blundering kindness of humans, the friendly chaos of the crew, but there was something about walking in the busy ship, with shared laughter heard at a distance, a rushed figure by her side and the soft glow of a Padd in someone’s hands… something emotionally breaking that made T’pol smile slightly. 

Like honey, something sweet seeped through her mental shields.

\---

“Computer, advance program an hour. Resume.”

The scene barely changed, with people in slightly different places, the corridor still as bustling. T’pol made a b-line to the crew cafeteria, remembering the impressions of a conversation she wanted to look back on. 

The cafeteria was just as loud and fast-moving as the hallways, but in the corner near the window, there was a soft tension among the senior staff, quiet voices traveling to the door where T’pol entered. 

She walked over slowly. The bridge crew, Trip, Phlox, and a couple ensigns they had befriended among the years were crowded around a small table. T’pol could see the holographic version of herself sitting next to the table, with a look only a Vulcan could read as slightly uncomfortable, her arms crossed. Jon was noticeably missing. There was a couple plates scattered on the metal surface, picked almost clean. 

“Have you given an answer to Captain Stillwell yet?” Hoshi turned to Travis next to her. 

“I've asked him for a little more time, until Captain Archer decides what he's going to be doing,” he shook his head, “You?”

Hoshi pursed her lips, and T’pol saw the past version of herself stiffen.

Before she could answer, though, Mal answered an underlying question about Jon’s plans, “I'll bet you a month's pay he'll be on the bridge of a new ship. He won't be able to resist one of those warp seven beauties.” 

“I've heard he's already been tapped for admiral,” Cutler reached for the last strawberry in the middle of the table. 

Phlox snorted, “Malcolm's right. They'll never keep him behind a desk.”

“That wouldn’t be the Jon I know,” said Trip, “I for one plan to stay with him.”

“You never answered, Hosh,” Travis smiled slightly, “I heard rumors you’ll be promoted to full commander. ‘Bout time, after the two of us pullin’ our weight around here.”

“Not sure either. I’ll wait ‘till we know what T’pol and the captain have sent in the requests for their crews I guess.”

Trip raised an eyebrow, “T’pol, you got a command?”

Her gaze flicked quickly to Hoshi, who looked concerned, “Admiral Forest thought it would be… logical to have as many experienced Starfleet captains in light of the charter going forwards.”

“And ya didn’t tell the rest of us? C’mon, I thought you were opening up to us finally, gettin’ out of that Vulcan shell of yours.”

T’pol’s hologram quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. 

She had told Hoshi and some of the other officers -- Reed and Cutler included -- who she was considering for her crew that she was offered Captaincy. 

She hadn’t considered it something to share with her… friends among the crew. It felt like bragging in a sense. Maybe they’d get offended that they didn’t get the promotion? Or annoyed if she didn’t ask them to be on her crew? Or… happy she was gone? 

T’pol was still working on her communication with the senior staff in a casual setting since she had made a conscious effort to “hang out” with the crew more. She wasn’t sure of the protocols for non-professional settings, and wasn’t sure why they had to be different. It was all so unnecessarily complicated. 

Humans were so fragile, and Vulcans maybe more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact my google doc for this project was called "writing Jonathan frakes out of star trek"


	5. with the unrehearsed sureness of family

2151

T’pol was on the bridge again. 

Both versions of her: a hologram with impeccable posture and an uncomfortable outfit sitting at her old science station, while the older woman was scribbling something on her notepad at the back of the bridge, long blue robes and more unkempt hair presenting a looser, more emotional counter to her past. 

“Do you think this alliance is going to hold, sir?” Mal turned towards the captain, the lines on his face betraying the anxiety of a man who practically lived and breathed safety in war. 

“We'd better hope so,” Jon smiled, “There are thousands of planets within reach. Got to start somewhere. Now, we just have to convince everyone else the alliance will hold.”

There was a pause of silence on the bridge, then Hoshi spoke up, picking up on the unspoken anxiety for the upcoming federation charter, “Written your speech yet?”

“I always crammed before exams,” Jon made a dismissive gesture, “I've got three days left.”

T’pol could see her youngerself shaking her head disaprovingly. Yes, it was illogical, but it was what T’pol was doing now, wasn’t it? She had realized that there was some value to the seat-of-your-pants ethos. Not a great deal of value, but it shouldn’t be dismissed so readily. 

“The biggest day of your life, and you're going to wait until the night before,” Travis snorted, speaking quietly as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted everyone to hear. 

Before Jon could come up with a retort, though, the holographic bridge shook. 

The hijabi navigation officer next to Travis frantically dragged a slider across her control panel, turning towards the rest of the bridge, “A small vessel is shooting at us, on viewscreen now.”

The viewscreen zoomed into a small image of a scout ship. 

“No sustained damage, sir… yet. Do I fire back?” Malcolm turned towards Jon, who put up a peaceful hand as Hoshi began to speak. 

“They’re hailing us, sir,” the ensign’s hand was hovering over the button to answer the vessel.

Jon stood, motioning for Hoshi to answer the call. The bridge crew had developed a bit of an unspoken communication method over the past few years. An alien came on the screen, their mottled face familiar from the planet the crew had just left. 

“We've come back for Shran and the child.” 

“Shran left six hours ago. You're too late,” said Jon.

“You're lying. His shuttle is still in your launch bay,” the alien scoffed -- or at least T’pol could assume it was an equivalent of a scoff, their vocal patterns were different from any humanoids she had met before. 

Hoshi swiveled in her chair, “Captain, can I suggest a more honest approach? They seem to value this face-to-face communication and will probably be more likely to fire after further deception.”

The younger T’pol quirked her head towards Hoshi, something soft on her face as she looked at the younger woman. 

Jon nodded at her, then looked at the viewscreen again, “Wait! Hold on. Wait a minute. Look, we don’t want to fight you. We have no stake in the conflict between you and Shran -- hell, we don’t even know what it is. But we won’t willingly give up Shran and his daughter. They’re friends of ours and we owe them a debt. Maybe we could arrange a talk between you and Shran on our ship?”

“A talk? Shran would never agree to that! I appreciate your willingness to help, but Shran won’t be as honest as you.”

The call ended with a snap, the viewscreen returning to a view of the oncoming ship. It was moving toward them fast, already firing once. 

“Red alert, shields up!”

Hoshi sighed at her conn, speaking softly, “It was worth a shot.”

In the years since the crew had first been formed, they were able to communicate quickly, the bridge crew a well-oiled machine in battle instances like this.

“Sir?” Mal’s hands were already poised at his console. 

Jon nodded towards the armory officer, hands gripped on the edge of his armrests. 

Travis’ hands were moving fast, “Pattern Theta, trying to turn to their aft.”

The navigation officer next to him was plugging in numbers on her console as Travis moved his console deftly. The ship moved in response to the alien vessel, both locked in a tight dance. 

As the two yellow-ribbed officers at the front of the bridge moved quickly in response to the moving scout ship, Mal and Jon were sharing commands about weapons. 

Maybe it was the red alert klaxons, maybe it was the tension in the room, or maybe simply the shaking of the ship in response to enemy fire, but there was something palpably on-edge about the scene. 

T’pol slowly walked around the bridge, studying faces. This was the last mission of Enterprise with the original crew, and they were working together like the unrehearsed sureness of family. She looked around the room -- she had to remind herself it was a holosuite and not the bridge of the old ship -- and the closeness struck her again. This was what Starfleet stood for, the beauty of teams with as many backgrounds and opinions as people working together. 

She felt something inside herself ache to be a member of this family -- or the one aboard the Chronos -- again, to be part of something. After the members of the crews slowly died, T’pol had closed herself off, but seeing their faces again made her realize it wasn’t just the people she fell in love with, but the connections. 

Maybe older, close to the end of her life, she could find those connections again. 

She tapped the screen of her Padd, having gone dark from lack of use and took a picture with it of the holographic scene in front of her. Hopefully the new crew’s five year mission could create the same careful dance of battle-worn friends and teammates. 

The alien ship was ragged, missing a nacel and the rear half of their cargo hold, but Enterprise wasn’t quite in the best condition either. 

“If I can get a clear shot of the ridge on their port side, I can take out their life support,” Mal said confidently, zooming in on a schematic T’pol had sent to his console. 

“On it, sir,” Travis had been blocked from moving towards the ship’s port side earlier, but this time as he tried to move Enterprise, the alien’s ship’s fire was blocked by a torpedo from Enterprise aimed at their weapons bay.

Travis moved the joystick at his console in response to the smaller ship, creating a pattern between the two, then jerking Enterprise to the scout ship’s port side just as they were anticipating his move away. The bridge shook violently with the abrupt move, but the sharp ridge running along the scout vessel’s port side came onto the viewscreen. 

“I don’t know how long you’ll have this shot, sir,” Travis was clearly talking to Mal, his voice strained as he was moving the sliders on his console to maintain position as long as possible.

Malcolm didn’t need to be told twice. 

There was a few second delay after Mal sent the command, but the ship in front of them went still, as if hung from the sky on a string. The life support systems were down, and the running engines wouldn’t last much longer, and nobody was left alive on the ship to come after Enterprise or Shran. 

Congratulations to Mal and Travis were quick and full of wide smiles as the group looked around at each other. Their last mission as a crew hadn’t ended in a glorious blaze of fire, and that was something to celebrate. They were safe, together, like family. 

As the bridge crew let out a collective breath, the holo-T’pol began to read out statuses from around the ship: minor repairs had to be made on most decks, with major damage to noncritical aft engines before the ship could lang; a few injuries, nothing serious except for Commander Tucker, who was hit by a falling bar during the ship’s last turn. He was in critical condition in sickbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double posting chapters because i can!!  
> also no, i did not kill trip again, this is a tatv rewrite for a reason,, i just wanted to end the chapter here lol


	6. lights bright and emotions taught

2151

“He's not responding.” a rushed medic’s voice came from across the room. 

“Add two percent syntho-surfactant,” Phlox responded, checking something on a screen display. 

T’pol had jumped ahead in the program, and they were now in sickbay, lights bright and emotions taught. 

During the fight, Engineering had taken heavy damage, and there were a few officers on biobeds in varying states of recovery. Trip was the only one in critical condition, with almost all the medical officers gathered around his bed as Doctor Phlox and a couple medics moved quickly, their practiced steps echoing the closeness of the bridge crew a few minutes ago. 

T’pol heard the familiar beep of the doors opening, and Jon walked in, the younger T’pol shadowing him, both walking in a bee-line to Trip’s biobed. 

“Doctor? How is he?”

Trip looked truly terrible. His eyes were closed almost peacefully, but his thick uniform was torn in no less than three places. There were touches of half-dried blood along the corner of his face, his sandy hair turned burgundy with blood. 

The ship’s jerky movement in the battle combined with heavy fire led to an exploding bulkhead in engineering, and seeing disaster before the distracted ensigns in danger, Trip had jumped in front of the disaster. 

Phlox smiled grimly, “We think he’ll pull through, but… it’ll be a tough few days.”

The doctor handed Archer a medical Padd, Trip’s file pulled up. Phlox explained that he had only sustained superficial wounds, but they would take a while to fully heal and he’d likely need bedrest all the way up to Archer’s speech at the signing of the federation charter. Trip had regained consciousness about ten minutes ago and was in an induced coma; there was no real fear of long term injury, but that didn’t mean it would be pretty.

\---

It did turn out to be a tough few days.

On their off hours in the next few days, the bridge crew and a decent part of the engineering officers spent their time crowding sickbay and making Phlox equally endeared and concerned for the amount of people spooking his animals. (The hologram version of T’pol pointed out a few times that if they weren’t spooked by active surgery, they should be fine with the mass of concerned officers.)

Scrolling ahead in the program, T’pol watched her younger self place a small, hand-sized figurine of a crudely painted Frankenstein on Trip’s bedside table. T’pol wouldn’t admit it, but she had found herself watching the Frankenstein movies a few times in the last few years. 

She was anxiously turning over the IDIC pendant in her hands. It was from her mother, the same one she had when Elizabeth was in sickbay. It was poetic, in a way, Elizabeth’s death being what made Trip and T’pol drift apart: both acutely aware of their mortality and inability to truly connect, they had broken off their relationship at a milestone that might make others grow closer. 

And yet, T’pol remembered this moment clearly, her younger eyes already old as she looked at Trip’s unconscious body, his breathing slow but steady. Seeing him vulnerable again lit something in the younger T’pol, a final letting go of their relationship. 

Before she could get lost in her thoughts, though, the door chimed. It was Jon. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he lead against the wall, a warm smile on his face. 

“Not at all sir, I was just leaving,” T’pol stood quickly, her stance stiff.

“No, please stay,” he pulled up a chair, “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

T’pol quirked an eyebrow, sitting back down. 

“No I mean… I know it’s been a while since you two broke up, and have definitely kept your distance in the past few years… but you’ve been spending a while in here with Trip and… I don’t know, as your captain I just wanted to check on you, y’know, make sure you’re holding up well?”

T’pol let Jon stumble through his sentence, silently watching him try to phrase his concern. 

“Look, I’m not trying to assume anything about your relationship, or put emotions in your mouth, but I just wanted to see how you were doing. Like it or not, I’ve found myself kind of caring about you,” Jon sighed, his shoulders relaxed. “Time heals all wounds, but absence makes the heart grow fonder. I guess it's a little tricky. Emotions have a way of contradicting themselves.”

“And you wonder why we suppress them.”

“When I took command ten years ago, I saw myself as an explorer. I thought all the risks would be worth it because, just beyond the next planet, just beyond the next star, there would be something magnificent, something noble. And now that we’re done, and I have to give a speech about how worthwhile it's all been.”

Her voice confident, T’pol almost smiled, “It’s been worthwhile.”

In front of her, T’pol, the real one, her hands wrinkled as she clasped them in front of her, echoed softly, “It’s been worthwhile.” 

It had been worthwhile. 

All of it, not just Enterprise’s mission. T’pol’s own command on the Chronos, her friendships and romances with the aliens she met. The formation of Starfleet and all the places she had explored with starfleet. It had all been worth it, all the pain and loss. 

As human as it sounds, she had found “something magnificent, something noble” on this voyage, and she knew the new five year mission she was giving a speech for would find it too. The bonds she had formed on this mission, emotional attachments to people she had initially found unbearable, an integration of new perspectives -- that was something magnificent, something worth searching for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last two chapers are shorter, so I'm posting them together!


	7. confidence in solidarity

2151

“Please stand still,” T’pol watched the holographic version of herself grasp her arms tightly as she addressed Jon, pacing in front of her, “If you hadn't waited until the last minute, you would have had time to memorise your speech.”

“You sound like my ninth grade teacher,” Jon sounded like he was reprimanding her, but there was something endearing in his tone. 

The two of them were wearing matching dress uniforms, both now having four pips. Phlox, as the other non-human representative on Enterprise, accompanied them in the greenroom. It’s walls and empty chairs were uncomfortably sterile, as if designed to make whoever was going onstage intentionally more anxious. 

“There are dignitaries here from eighteen different worlds. It's a good sign,” Phlox glanced up from the Padd in his hand, “I wouldn't be surprised if this… federation begins to expand before we know it. You should be very proud of yourself, Captain.” 

“I'll be proud of myself if I get this speech out in one piece.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Phlox stated curtly, a twinge in his voice. 

Jon sighed, having stopped pacing, “I know what you meant, Phlox, and I appreciate it, but this is not about me.”

“Why do so many humans refuse to take credit where credit is due? There are times when modesty and humility are quite illogical.”

Jon and the older T’pol snorted at her holographic counterpart in unison. It wasn’t that T’pol now refused to take credit -- she sure knew her importance -- but she found it more important the effects of the group. There was no way she could have done much of anything without the help of others, and it wasn’t logical to take credit for something you didn’t truly do. Vulcans liked to say that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and the work of the many also outweigh the work of the few. 

She knew she wasn’t asked to speak at the launch of the five year mission only for her accomplishments, but also to speak to something larger than herself. 

An ensign leaned their head into the greenroom from the large set of stairs, “Whenever you're ready, sir.”

Jon nodded at them, giving them a pursed smile. He said his goodbyes to Phlox as the Denobulan headed up to the audience seating, then turned to T’pol, “You'd better get out there. You don't want to miss me screwing this thing up.”

Holo-T’pol shook her head, even then being better at recognizing the Captain’s sarcasm than when she first joined the crew, “I'm going to remain down here, if you don't mind.”

“You never did like crowds, did you?” Jon moved to clap his hand on her shoulder, but paused, remembering her sensitivity to touch. T’pol could sense the hesitation in his movement, and, judging their friendship, moved in for a hug. It was short and not as intimate as Jon had feared, but had given them both confidence in solidarity, having leaned on each other metaphorically for so long. 

As Archer walked up the stairs to the soon-to-be-Federation, T’pol paused for a minute. She looked at the holographic echo of herself for a moment, considering going upstairs to watch Jon’s speech. She only paused for a minute, though: she knew what she needed to say in her own speech now and didn’t feel a need to dwell any longer.

“Computer end program”

2257

T’pol’s surroundings disappeared in a second, phasing back to the black-and-yellow checkered holosuite. She paused for a second, taking in her new location and processing what she just experienced. T’pol flattened her skirt down before leaving the room, tucking her Padd into her pocket. 

She checked out of the holosuite and headed home in relative silence. T’pol found a small spring in her step as she crossed the threshold back into her house. Sitting down at her desk, the Vulcan pulled out her Padd of notes and started writing a speech for the launch of the new Enterprise’s five year mission. 

She wrote of exploration, of the need for a mission like Captain Pike’s. 

She wrote of her experiences in -- and before -- Starfleet, of her relationships with aliens, of her life with Hoshi. 

She wrote of the “something magnificent, something noble,” of the next generation of explorers to take her place in the stars. 

She wrote of the beautiful clockwork of the crew’s teamwork, and everything she had learned from them. 

She wrote of the vulnerability of space travel, and of all the voyages that were to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaah it feels good to finally get this whole thing out there !! 
> 
> originally i was going to add a conversation in the shuttle to earth with spock but then i,,, didn't lol.


End file.
